


Slipping, drowning.

by cattrap



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-20
Updated: 2013-06-20
Packaged: 2017-12-15 13:15:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/849962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cattrap/pseuds/cattrap
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The boy hid his face behind his bloodied hands, moaning lowly, “Do-Don’t let her get me, please, no, sawe me.”</p>
<p>After the death of Spock's mother, Pavel Chekov finds himself ridden and sickened with guilt - with only a certain doctor to help protect him from the nightmares.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slipping, drowning.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfiction. Ever. In the world.  
> Thanks to McChekov being the first pairing to drag it out of me, but soz for any mistakes or shit stories or u no, bad feelings.
> 
> Holla.

It started slowly, at first - the thoughts, the voices, the doubts.

Pavel Chekov, seventeen year old boy genius, would be settled at his prized position of head navigator – running mathematical scripts so

rapidly in his brain, it would run the everyday person into the ground within an hour, or plotting the course of the Enterprise three light-years

away with exact precision… and then he would hear it.

**Useless boy.**

The wispy Russian jolted in his seat; a sharp pain soon following right across his front temple. He yelped, sounding no more than a wounded puppy that’d been left by its mother. His slender fingers gripped ahold of the desk in front of him, knocking his co-ordinates completely off course and causing a distress signal from his section at the sudden change. Scotty’s precious ship was intelligent enough to know that that wasn’t a good move.

The other members of the bridge were chatting between themselves – Kirk chatting animatedly to Bones, who stood at the side of the Captain’s chair, about the great night he was shown by a few women of the academy on saving the world, Bones, of course, looking disgusted at Kirk’s entire existence, Uhura practicing one of the least known, ancient dialects of the Vulcan species with Spock and Sulu was getting a telling off by Scotty – that the Enterprise was a woman who needed to be treated as such and sometimes Sulu was too rough going into warp. Sulu bore an expression that he was practicing fencing on Scotty’s body in his mind – a disgruntled look, followed by a smug, half grin. The distress signal caught them all off guard.

“Chekov, are you trying to break my ship?!” Kirk hurled himself from his chair, or more, the Enterprise flung him from his chair.

“YOUR ship, sir? You wannie check y’er language,” the Scotsman laughed in annoyance, falling against Sulu’s station to steady himself.

“Wery, wery, sorry sirs! Sorry sirs!” the boy stuttered, catapulting himself a top of his station to reverse the sabotage he had just done. The right side of Chekov’s face was scrunched up in pain, stopping just as he managed to get the alarm to stop. He sighed heavily, settling back in his chair.

“You alright, Mr. Chekov?” The Captain lightly clasped the boy’s shoulder, talking directly in his ear. Pavel jerked at the touch; had the Captain called him useless? No... no, Captain Kirk cared for his crew and he’d been chatting to the Doctor.. No, where had that come from. And the pain… the shooting agony. It was unlike Chekov to mess ANYTHING up; even his cabin was shockingly clean for a teenage boy; much less leave the Enterprise unstable. At the jump, Kirk dropped his hand – assuming the kid was just overworked. It had only been a week since the Romanulan incident. Starfleet didn’t give them much time to recover, but when the ship was fixed, the crew was fixed and it was there duty to get back out there as soon as possible.

“Yes, Keptin Kirk. I just got a wery bad headache,” the Russian practically whimpered, rubbing his temples.

“It’s gone now. I will continue my vork, Keptin,” he forced a smile to his superior; his large green orbs beaming with delight. He was always happy to be aboard this ship and he was always happy to work. It was a distraction but also a wonderful hobby. Space was expansive, terrifying but also full of excitement and wonder. How many seventeen year olds could have this sort of opportunity?

Kirk nodded gently, ruffling the kid’s dark blond curls, “If it gets worse, hit Bones up. Guys got a few miracle cures up his sleeve,” with a small smile, he returned to his chair. Chekov merely nodded. Over the next two weeks, his mind deteriorated – with only one, single thought tearing through his brain every second of every day. Why? Why couldn’t I save her? The first officer constantly being present; constantly being on the bridge only made this thought worse. Vulcans worked so much more effectively than humans. The Vulcan hardly slept and was practically always by the Captain’s side… and each time he saw him, another voice tore through the Russian’s mind, tore into his very well being.

**Look at what you did to Spock.**

**Look at what you did to his family.**

**A human; you killed a human.**

\- - -

He stopped eating properly by day three of week one. Chekov and Sulu normally hit the mess hall together, as their shifts coincided with each other’s. The Russian was known for his frail, thin appearance but also for eating the amount of a stallion. He’d been settled at a table once a month or two ago, with Bones writing down each amount of each food the boy was ingesting.

“I didn’t realize Russians were a new species of parasite,” the Doctor had remarked, staring wide eyed as the boy demolished a third dessert. McCoy pushed his plate away, finding much more interest in watching the Russian. It was good to see a kid with an appetite. It reminded him of home. Those memories were long gone in Chekov’s mind. Sulu brought his food to the cabin and he could early eat more than four mouthfuls of the space food without finding himself wrenching and vomiting for the remainder of the night. Chekov didn’t allow anyone into his cabin anymore – not that anyone cared to check. He was present during his shifts – what he did else where was no one's concern.

 - - -

The whispers in his head got louder by day five of week one and with that, came persistent headaches and blurred vision.

**Waste of flesh.**

**What are you doing here?**

**You’re a stupid child.**

The boy, now underfed, rapidly loosing weight he REALLY couldn’t afford to, fell painfully against the walls of Enterprise. Pain radiated through his chest. If he so much as breathed, unbearable pain ripped through his body. He heaved, eyes falling closed, body twitching painfully. But he always managed to catch himself before he went to the bridge. Pavel kept his eyes down, mouth shut and worked to everyone’s orders. This was his job. No one could take that away from him. His job! He was fully competent. He could be here. He could work properly! And then there was that voice inside of him.

_“You’re slipping, Pavel. You’re losing it.”_

_\- - -_

The night terrors started at the beginning of week two. He hadn’t been getting much sleep for the past week anyways. Between his dizzy spells, intense migraines, unsettled stomach and shifts – sleeping was not top of his priorities. But he was seventeen; teenagers have plenty of energy! Right?

Half of the time, he didn’t even know he had went to tried to go to sleep until he had woken up. He could see her - Spock’s mother. So very human, so very real and then, she would disappear. But he could always hear her in his dreams – her brutal screams as she fell from the cliff, only to see the rest of her family taken to safety while she was left to be crushed by a falling planet. As his dreams progressed, she soon started coming to Chekov side. She screamed at him, her eyes black and hollow, tore at his skin, made him bleed, made herself bleed. Pavel did little more in his dreams than writher in pain, scream and sob away from the woman. The woman he couldn’t save. This was the only time the voices stopped – the voices must have found it enough for Chekov. How nice of them. When Chekov awoke, he would find himself wringing with sweat, his face stinging with tears and his arms scratched and bleeding to pieces. Pavel’s hair would be soaked to his forehead, his white t-shirt practically see through. He would pant frantically, waking up on the bathroom floor or in his cabin chair – wherever his exhausted body had decided to drop first. He would sit still for an hour, unable to move – paralyzed with fear or feeling as though he were being crushed. His mind was being crushed by the weight of his guilt and it was choking the life out of him. Who did Chekov have to talk to? He was at least seven years the junior of the other youngest members of the ship.

Captain Kirk was always busy, he didn’t deserve to even look at Spock, Sulu was a friend who he didn’t WANT to dump these issues on and Doctor McCoy... He had better things to do than deal with some stupid kid's issues! Doctor McCoy was a saviour aboard this ship. He dealt with so many alien, phaser attacked patients and THAT was worth his time. Chekov was not - or more, Chekov believed he was not.

He could bring himself to do little more in his spare time than lie upon his bed in nothing more than his underwear – his arms wrapped protectively around himself although it offered little solstice. Why was he here, nothing more than a kid when a woman had lost her life? He didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve any of this.

And the voices got louder – they didn’t allow him to think about anything else. No one on the bridge had even noticed. Shifts had changed and the ship was so large, it was common to not see people for days on end. Pavel followed his orders to a T, pushed to the point of breaking exhaustion – but he always did it. He couldn’t let anyone down. Not another person. At the end of the second week, he was a shell of his former, peppy self. He had lost a great deal of weight – his face appeared shrunken, his cheekbones more predominant, his uniform looked just a little too big, his skin was fading to a dull gray, his eyes were blood shot and a constant burning of pile was always hidden at the back of his throat – stinging tears in Pavel’s eyes… he was the definition of a basket case.

\- - -

It was 3am when Pavel awoke from yet another nightmare, but this time it was different. Had he really awoken? Spock’s mother was there, in his room, sitting on his chest. Her cold, bony hands reached for his neck and drew blood. So much blood. He screeched.

“No, no, no! I am awake, I am awake!” He thrashed violently in his soaking bed. He was safe when he was awake from her, he couldn’t see her when he was awake. The hallucination faded as the Russian rolled off of his bed, his body wrecked with pain. This was it. He couldn’t do it anymore. His white shirt and skin were both wringing with sweat, tears were pouring from his blood shot eyes and blood was coming from his neck and arms. Every part of the poor boy’s skin was burning as he clambered on all fours to his door. Chekov dragged himself into a standing position and staggered down the hall. He tried to run, he really did. He didn’t want the woman to catch up to him. He didn’t want her snow cold hands wrapped around his neck again. He was so scared.

It was quiet on the deck’s at this time, with only a small number of people working on the bridge. Bones, always wanting to be ahead of himself so that he couldn’t get shit from Jim or from that pointy-eared goblin, was filing his medical reports ahead of time. There was currently no one present in the medical bay – making his whole situation a lot easier as he didn’t have to deal with any sneezing, disease ridden, bleeding persons who always whined when they were given their medicine.

Hey, if medicine was supposed to taste great, it wouldn’t have so many damn labels and chemical compounds in it.

The last thing he had expected to see that night was the young, Russian ensign; sobbing, bleeding and shaking in his office. Bones remained motionless at his desk – Jesus Christ. Since when had the kid looked so bad? How the hell had no one noticed this? Jim saw the kid practically every day – Bones was lucky if he ever escaped the sick bay. The Captain was going to get a bloody ear tomorrow.

The boy hid his face behind his bloodied hands, moaning lowly, “Do-Don’t let her get me, Doctor, please, no, sawe me.”

Bones dropped his file to the desk and hesitantly got up; unsure of what exactly he was dealing with. When the boy reached out, his fatherly instincts seemed to kick him straight in the face. A part of Chekov knew he would be given this treatment by the Doctor and it was all he wanted. A bigger, stronger and more protective person to protect him from himself. Stop him from drowning.

“Come here, darlin’, sssh,” although the Doctor did spend most of his time being a hard ass; he knew when his patients needed him and this kid… this kid who had never given anyone any trouble and who had far surpassed the beliefs of Starfleet, definitely needed him. Bones soothed the boy’s wet hair down, clutching him protectively to his chest. Chekov didn’t even have the energy to hug him back, his arms simply stuck between his face and the Doc’s chest.

Bones continued to soothe him, tenderly rubbing the back of his neck and whispering in his ear, “No one’s coming for you, okay? I’m here… I’m here, okay…” Bones slipped his hand to below the boys neck, which the Russian fidgeted at and whined at the pain; his face still hidden. He was bleeding all over Bones’ hand, and his pulse was so very erratic.

“Let’s get you inside, darlin’, come on,” with an arm wrapped protectively around the boys shoulders, he practically carried the boy to a room that had been sectioned off for intensive care patients within the Enterprise. He’d be away from any prying eyes here. The boy was still shaking and whimpering, as he was lay down on the bed. Bones looked at his hands and sighed; covered once again in blood. He first slipped Chekov’s shirt off, exposing the week’s worth of scratches and scars the boy had given himself.

“Jesus, kid,” Bones had seen a lot of shit in his time but the state of Chekov right now was down right distressing. Pavel had taken to simply shaking now, staring at the brick wall as McCoy cleaned his wounds, bandaged him up and found him a new shirt to wear. Pavel’s blood shot, green orbs slowly trailed up to the Doctor who was currently scanning the boy for any future problems. He found nothing. Now that Chekov seemed to have calmed down, Bones sat down on the bed, placing a cooling hand on Chekov’s boiling forehead.

“You wanna start talkin’, kid?” He was simply greeted with fresh tears. Oh God, here came the fatherly instinct again. Damn it!

“Come here,” the Doctor whispered, pulling the boy gingerly onto his lap. He was so small and fragile – made worse by his weight loss that it felt like holding a fourteen year old at a push. The Russian tucked his head under McCoy’s chin, trying to work up the courage to speak. They remained like this for ten minutes, Chekov struggling to remain a normal breathing flow.

“It vas my fault,” he whimpered. Bones remained quiet, knowing it was going to take Chekov a bit of time to get his words out. McCoy rubbed his back gingerly, ssh-ing him gently below his breath. “It vas my fault that she died. I k-killed a voman, I killed her. I couldn’t save her. I saved eweryone else but not her, I-I,” His speech grew to an erratic pace, before he ended up just choking on his words. He buried his face deeper into the Doctor’s shoulder. For the first time in a long time – he felt safe. Honestly safe. Bones inwardly groaned. What the hell was wrong with Starfleet? That whole damn mission was a walking trauma session on legs. Every damn person on this ship should have been shipped into therapy. And with all their damn cuts – they didn’t have anyone who could deal with this on board; just people to deal with the physical injuries of stupidly firing phasers or burning themselves in the engineering rooms. God damn it.

“What’s been going on?” The Doctor whispered.

“Woices – they call me stupid, they give me headaches. I see the voman in my head and she screams at me… She hurts me.” With his left hand, Bones continued to rub the small of Pavel’s back, whilst his other hand reached up to gently stroke the side of the boy’s neck. This kid was a genius, he was a hard worker and McCoy was not about to sit here and listen to him talk so badly of himself. The voices in his head; he knew they were the boy doubting himself. It hurt to hear – it hurt to hear the boy for the next twenty minutes sob and choke out everything – the night terrors, the eating, his own self doubts. “Pavel,” the Doctor murmured. He pulled the boy from his chest but kept him settled on his lap.

“Look, kid, you saved people that day. Yeah sure, point eared hob-globins but you still SAVED them. If you hadn’t been there, we would have lost the Captain as well. You basically saved this entire ship!”

The Russian sniffed and rubbed his tired and sore face gently, “But I-..”

“No more buts, kid. People get lost, people die. Life sucks and shit happens but you don’t let it define you,” McCoy placed his hands on either side of the boy’s face, keeping their gazes fixed on each other. Pavel nodded as best he could within the doctor’s grasp. “You won’t get over this easily but I’ll be damned if I see a man as great as you fall because of this, alright?”

Chekov smiled – legitimately smiled. That’s all he’d needed. Reassurance. And coming from a man like Bones meant so much. That’s what Pavel Chekov was. Yes, he was still legally a kid, yes he was the youngest on the Enterprise but look at what he had done. So much. He’d saved Sulu, Kirk and Spock. He was a young man. And he was going to get stronger.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Let’s drop the formalities, Pavel.”

“Leonard?”

“You’re lucky you’re not Jim. Otherwise you’d be dealing with a five toned black eye.”

“Leo?” Boned sighed.

“Yes, alright. Let’s get you into bed.”

Pavel nodded and got shakily off of the Doctor’s lap. McCoy pulled the cover’s back and helped the boy in, who was still in a great deal amount of pain but he was all the better for it.

“Leo?”

“Hmm?”

“Vill you stay with me?”

The curly haired boy fiddled with his fingers and nails. He was still frightened – so scared to even so much as close his eyes for fear of being thrown back in to the deep end once again.

“Already ahead of you, darlin’,” Bones lay on the bed. He was protective and gentle as he pulled Chekov to his chest, avoiding each new wound the boy had caused on himself. It would be a long trip to getting him better and an even longer day tomorrow explaining all of this to the bridge but for now, the boy was safe, calm, cleaned up… with a clear head and pleasant dreams as he drifted off to sleep within the Doctor’s warm grasp.


End file.
